Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [71]
"I hope that storm passes before we get down to the edge," Kiril told Thormud.
"Mmm."
She'd been trying to engage the geomancer in conversation all morning, with limited success.
Prince Monolith plodded onward and downward.
They continued to follow the parched course of the ancient river down from the foothills. Day passed into midafternoon. The river's dead path wound among hills rounded and degraded by eons. Kiril saw nothing but worn boulders, pebbles, and fine rusty sand. Nothing moved on the river bottom, whose stones were bare even of dead lichen.
The malignant wind devil with the sandstorm shrouding its base hadn't passed over the horizon as they'd descended the pass. Instead, it twisted and swelled toward them, as if it were a sentient guardian come to bar their passage into Raurin. Perhaps it was.
"We'd better find shelter before it gets here," Kiril told Thormud as she pointed toward the approaching storm.
"Mmm."
"Damn it."
Kiril yelled ahead, "Monolith, Thormud's still not himself. Don't expect any direction from him, if you're waiting for it."
The deep voice of the elemental noble resonated back, "Why should I? I am the guide, not he."
"All right, rock head, if you're so smart, maybe you should think about that approaching wind devil. We won't survive its outskirts, let alone the column at the center."
The elemental stalked down the empty path, but one of its stone arms rose and pointed ahead. Kiril followed the direction of his gesture and saw a tiny cavern mouth, perhaps five hundred paces distant, gaping from the side of the empty stream bed.
She shrugged, saying nothing. Truth was, she was slightly embarrassed she hadn't descried the cave mouth herself. She was an elf, after all, and had a reputation to maintain.
* * * * *
The storm stifled the sun as they reached the aperture. They moved through a baleful twilight stained with bloody light. The cave opened out of the flat, eroded face of an ancient riverbank. The cave's sides were crumbled into heaps of crusted dust, but Kiril immediately noticed a suspiciously clean avenue down the center of the cavern floor. More suspicious yet-the flickering illumination of lantern light emerging from what should have been a lonely, black hole.
Someone lived in the cave-perhaps several someones.
Prince Monolith reached out and touched the rock above the cave entrance. He held the position briefly, then stepped to the side of the cave entrance and ceased all movement.
"Not coming in?"
He replied, "I doubt I would fit. Plus, I might frighten the natives."
"What kind of natives?" asked Kiril.
"Environs as harsh as Raurin are extreme, but mortal flesh, for all its frailty, is surprisingly adaptable. The rock has led me to a colony of dervishes, despite an enchantment of misdirection attempting to lead me astray. But I have a closer association with the world than most."
"I hope they're friendly."
"Enter and ask for shelter. I have observed that cultures perched on the edge of wastelands often prize hospitality above all other values."
The storm was sweeping down upon them and beginning to sting Kiril with windblown grit. "I don't see what choice I have."
Monolith stood silent as stone.
The elf wrestled Thormud down from his seat and bodily carried him into the cave entrance. She'd worry about their equipment and supplies, still lashed to the destrier's back, later. Xet fluttered around unhelpfully.
The lantern hung from the ceiling some thirty feet down the cavern's throat, rusted and battered, but burning a half-full reservoir of oil that smelled pleasantly of cloves. The